


A Night's Peace

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Cuddles, F/M, Fluff, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5390750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cuddling against Christine when he can't sleep really is the finest thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night's Peace

She’s so soft beneath him, so warm and comfortable. His head fits perfectly into her shoulder, forehead to her throat and he can feel her pulse beating against his skin. So gentle and sweet. He could lie here forever, wrapped in her embrace, her hand light on his back, their legs intertwined. How terrible it would be to leave her, to have her think he doesn’t want to be here. His very heart beats for her, for the soft lavender of her skin and the tenderness of her touch. How could she love one such as him? How?

Oh, he’s so tired! When did he last sleep for more than an hour? Every time she’s away from him his mind whirls free, painting horrors worse than that of his face. The weariness is ingrained deep in his bones and there is no escape. To breathe her in and sleep and not have to think or worry, just for a little while. How marvellous a thought.

She murmurs something soft into his hair, and he can’t make out the words. She is so far away and he is floating on an open sea, moulded tight against her body.

He kisses her softly, his lips brushing over that steady pulse and sighs.Oh she is so lovely, and she is his. And nothing can take her away from him now. She’s promised him that, her sweet voice humming softly into the night.

* * *

 

She can pinpoint the moment that he slips into sleep, his breathing evening out. Her poor, unhappy Erik. How he needs his sleep and yet how unwilling his sleep is to come. She flatters herself that her being here, allowing him to lie tucked in against her, enables sleep to come to him, though she knows it’s more likely that his body is simply so worn out that it can do nothing else.

Gently, she brushes her fingers over that twisted cheek. He whimpers softly, lips tightening for a fleeting moment before his face slips back into peace. It’s so lovely to see him at such peace, the lines around his eyes smoothed out. How she longs to take this moment and freeze it forever. A quiet little bubble with the two of them wound together, their fingers interlaced and his breaths soft little huffs against her neck.

His hair is growing out, curling at the ends to brush his neck, the delicate flecks of silver through the black serving to make him more beautiful. She loves his hair like this, long enough to bury her fingers in. Oh how she loves him. Her heart pangs with it, with the words that she doesn’t know how to say. She loves him. Such a pretty thought, one of those beautiful things that he loves to surround himself with.

Her dear Erik.

She raises his hand, those long fingers limp between hers, and kisses it ever so softly. He doesn’t stir, and as her own eyes slip closed against the soft glow of the candlelight, she hopes that his dreams come easy tonight.


End file.
